Little by little, Cuddy made her recovery. Every day her body felt a bit stronger. She started eating again. She still wore loose things; she didn't want anybody to see just how thin she had let herself get. One morning in February she had mustered up enough strength to go out for a run. When she arrived back inside, adrenaline high, the sweat dripping down her neck- she saw Marina and Rachel sitting on the porch. Rachel's eyes lit up when Cuddy appeared, and with a happy expression, she reached for her.

Cuddy smiled back for the first time in days and picked her up. "Hi, Rach," she said softly.

At that moment, she knew things would be okay. Her emotional battle with dealing with her miscarriage started giving way. Rachel's soft, baby skin and her content expression as she balanced her on her hip reminded her that she still had a daughter, no matter what happened. She was one step closer to acceptance.

"She missed her momma," Marina said, a twinkle in her eyes. "I did too."

Cuddy slowly returned to work. She had never left physically, of course; emotionally was another story. Somehow, though, her drive was returning to her. She tightened the reigns she had temporarily loosened and became the boss that everyone knew and respected; the boss that knew how to handle the hospital. She was no longer an apathetic, empty shell. She was still sad, of course, but it was fading with time. She would always be sad. But every month, things hurt a little less.

She had received a page asking her to report to the surgery wing. It wasn't marked urgent, but she hurried along anyway- it was almost time to head home. The knowledge that she would have to pass House's office on the way didn't escape her, however. She almost took the long route to avoid this, but decided against it in the end. It was childish. She had no reason to avoid him, things weren't vicious between them. They simply hadn't talked for a while.

Despite her best efforts, her curiosity won, and on the way, she slowed her pace when she passed his office. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to give her time to observe. House was inside, alone. He was sitting at a table, his cane at his side, looking blankly at the floor. He looked lost in thought. Cuddy swallowed and then carried on; he was probably busy with a case.

She reached the observatory and talked into the intercom. "Alright guys, make this quick."

"You need to get Dr. Chase to stop slacking off and doing his job," a surgeon answered. "We're the only ones available right now, and Chase could be here, but big surprise, he's somewhere jerking off! This could have been done hours ago."

"Dr. Chase, unfortunately, no longer works for you, so I don't think you have any right to complain," she said simply. "He isn't slacking off, Stan. He has cases to do."

"Not right now he doesn't. There are no cases."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the eyes of the place."

"Maybe not the eyes, but I do have ears and I do remember Dr. Taub excusing himself yesterday with the statement "office hours are over and no cases are in progress."

Cuddy was slightly taken aback and fell silent. House hadn't been working on a case, then. What was so. . . ?

"I just passed the diagnostics wing; House looked pretty busy to me," she said, arching her brow.

"Yeah well, maybe he had something else on his mind. Can you PLEASE do something about the available surgeons?"

She shifted her gaze back down to the surgery and nodded. "Do your job. Don't put his ear where his liver goes," she sarcastically quipped and then walked out, a newfound interest in the diagnostic's wing blooming. She made her way back, but this time, stopped in front of House's office. She strained her neck and tried to see inside. He was still in the same position, his expression numb. He hadn't noticed her. Or perhaps he had, but he wasn't paying her any mind.

Cuddy had no idea why she did it, but she opened the door. She slid inside carefully and walked up to him, an inquisitive look upon her features.

"You have no cases today."

"I know," House said dryly, not looking at her.

"Go home," she said after a moment, not understanding.

House didn't answer her.

She swallowed and then studied him; she knew something was wrong. At that moment, that was all she was aware of. She had completely disregarded their fight a few weeks prior. She just wanted him to be okay.

"House?"

He still refused to look at her; still refused to say anything. And yet, Cuddy somehow knew what he was feeling had nothing to do with her.

"Don't you have therapy today?" She asked, realizing that he indeed did.

"Nope," he finally lifted his head and looked at her. "I dropped out."

Cuddy didn't ask why right away, but she grew worried.

"You're not-"

"No, I'm not back on drugs, no, I'm not pain free, I will never be pain free."

"Okay. So. . . go home. Or go to therapy."

"No," he said again. "I'm done, it's done nothing. All's they are are a bunch of manipulators that fill people with false hope. They take away everything you have and convince you it will help you live a better life. And then you believe it." He was opening up to her in the only way he knew how; through bitterness. She simply listened, encouraged him to go on. Now that he was no longer attending therapy, she suspected he was branching out and using her instead.

But House said no more; he closed his lips and looked away again.

So he was hoping to change? That was all too much for her to hear, and it put any words she might have said on hold. She didn't question him, it would be no use. He didn't want to say anything else. She didn't force him to go back, and she didn't tell him he needed to go home. She pushed the boss side of her to the side; she pushed the resentment she held for House aside. Instead, she reminded herself that at her core she was a human, and, silently and slowly, reached out to touch his hand.

It was very soft at first. She poked her pointer finger out and tapped it gently against his knuckle. He didn't pull away or resist, so she moved in and allowed two fingers to rest upon it. She looked at him with pained eyes. For some reason, when both of them were hurting, they acted the gentlest toward the other. It was as if they realized they didn't need any more bleeding.

House lifted his head and looked back at her. It was then that she realized just how close she was sitting to him; his blue eyes looked so incredibly real. Her jawline was set. Suddenly, she became aware that she was no longer alone. Without another word, she blinked and broke the silence.

"House, go home."

"You know. . . you're more maternal than you give yourself credit for," House said, ignoring her. "It's really annoying."

Cuddy sighed deeply and took this as her cue- she got up, before anything happened. She didn't feel like kissing him, of course, but she wasn't so sure about him. He watched her rise, but didn't follow.

"Come on," she said. "We're going to talk to Nolan."

"Nope," House replied swiftly. "Don't want to."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "Come on, House. You were doing so well."

"Oh, yeah, and you're definitely the one that encouraged that," House said sarcastically. "Because you kept a close watch on what I did outside of work and everything."

"Maybe I thought you could handle it," Cuddy said, crossing her arms. It was a lie, but she didn't know what else to say. She had really distanced herself from him.

"Cuddy, I dropped out weeks ago," House said smoothly. Cuddy swallowed. . . she hadn't known this. She felt stupid. That was, of course, his intention.

"Well, then either you're going back to Wilson's apartment, or you're going downstairs to help with clinic," she commanded, shaking it off and pointing her index finger toward the hall in order to emphasize her point. "I'm not going to have you sitting here doing nothing."

"Fine," House said casually, getting up and leaning on his cane. "I'll just go sit on the sidewalk outside of Wilson's house."

"What is so WRONG with Wilson's house?" Cuddy inquired, giving him an austere look.

"Since when do you care?" House snapped back.

"I'm trying to help you," Cuddy replied in a sincere tone, and fell silent immediately afterwards. House stared her down. She realized that she had just echoed his words a few weeks prior and pursed her lips, looking away in the awkward silence that followed. House finally made a move; he limped past her, grabbed his coat, and slung it over his shoulders.

"Fine. I'll go tell a few stuffy nosed kids to beat some sense into their parents-"

"House," Cuddy said firmly, making him shut up. He waited for her to continue; she sighed, contemplated on what she was about to do, and then made her decision. "Why don't you just come stay at my place."

Somehow, in some way, House had agreed, and Cuddy hadn't pulled back on her offer. And now they were on Cuddy's doorstep, unlocking her door, and stepping inside.

Her house was quiet. It looked as though it was one of those nights that Marina had already put Rachel to bed. That was fine; House wouldn't have been bothered to help out, and she would have been stuck with the responsibility of two children. She painfully remembered that this would have been the case anyway had she stayed pregnant, but shook the thought from her mind as soon as it came. Now was not the time to make herself sick with sorrow.

"Marina?" Cuddy asked, wandering into the kitchen just as House was taking his jacket off. He seemed preoccupied with something else, so Cuddy left him alone and followed the lights of the house until she found her babysitter on the back patio. "Hey Marina," she said breathily to the woman sitting on the lounge chair, reading an interior design magazine and sipping from a mug. "Rachel asleep?"

"Oh, yes, she was very tired," Marina said, looking up.

"Ah, who isn't. How about you go home yourself?"

"Lisa, you are home so early," Marina said, growing confused at the realization.

"I know, but you're excused."

"Why do you want me out so badly?" She teased.

"Trust me," Cuddy said, lowering her voice. "You reallyyyy don't want to meet the guy I brought home."

"A man! Oh my goodness- do you mean-"

"House, Marina. House."

"Oh," Marina said, the excitement dissipating. "Well, best of luck to you, my dear. I will require an extra hour tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure thing, just as long as you're here when I have to leave," Cuddy said. "You're free to go."

Marina nodded, got up, and made her way out of the house. Cuddy didn't know if House had even noticed her, but it didn't seem as though it would matter if he did. He would either ignore her or make a rude comment with the mood he was in. A few moments later, however, the closing of the front door confirmed her suspicion- Marina and House hadn't noticed one another.

He was quiet, too quiet. Cuddy stepped slowly through the corridor, past her kitchen, past her guest room, and into the living room, where she finally found him hovering over her fireplace, studying the pictures on her mantelpiece.

"You know," he started, somehow sensing her entrance. "The beehive kind-of went out of style after 1969. Unless you're Amy Winehouse," he said this without facing her, looking at one particularly old photo with amusement.

"Maybe I liked being eccentric," Cuddy replied dryly, fixing the pillows on her couch out of habit.

"Not sure if eccentric is the right word for you. Domineering, maybe. Perfectionist, maybe. Narcissist, yes. Eccentric. . . eh. I'll give it to you."

"I had a life before you came into it, you know. Maybe young me was eccentric."

"Young you liked being the best in show. . . and one night stands with cantankerous bastards," House said as Cuddy came up to stand beside him. At these words, she caught his glance and gave him a challenging expression, a small side smirk appearing on her features for the first time that night. He was deflecting, like his usual, obnoxious self. . . he seemed okay.

For some reason, Cuddy still found no reason to question what was between Wilson and him. If it was important, she would find out in due time. If not, it wouldn't matter. Instead she took comfort in knowing that House was here, safe, and not by himself. Anything he would pull would be better than being unsure of his status; she could deal with him for one night.

Suddenly, Cuddy's phone began ringing. Without excusing herself, she stepped out and left House alone.

"Hello?" She said when she reached the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

"Cuddy?"

"Oh, hi, Wilson," Cuddy said lazily, switching the hand in which she held the phone with.

"Hey. Have you seen House?"

"He's here with me," she said calmly. "What's up with him dropping out of his program?"

"He did that? Oh, God, Cuddy. I don't know. But he's there?"

"Yes. Just for tonight. And it doesn't-"

Suddenly she stopped to listen. "James, who's that?" Cuddy narrowed her eyes, trying to recognize the voice. "Is that. . . a woman?" She asked him after a moment.

"It's Cuddy, hon- what? Yes. Oh, yeah. You know my girlfriend Sam."

"You mean your ex wife Sam? What is she doing there?"

"We've kind of been seeing each other. You um. You didn't know?"

Cuddy stopped; it was becoming more clear. House didn't want to be with his best friend if his best friend was with a woman. It would remind him that he could easily lose him. . . and perhaps, even if she figured he didn't want love, it would remind him that he was, at the end of the day, still alone. She blinked a few times before continuing.

"No. I didn't."

"Alright, well. As long as House is alright."

"He'll be fine. I'll make sure he doesn't jump the border," she said. "Goodnight, Wilson."

Wilson trusted her. "'Night, Lisa."

They hung up, and Cuddy slowly put the phone back on the receiver. She understood now why House hadn't wanted to go home.

"And I was hoping you'd cook something," House teased, but Cuddy was in no mood.

"I'm tired, House. Get take-out if you're that hungry."

"Nah. It's no fun if I don't get to enjoy the juices of your labor."

"Funny, that almost sounds sexual."

"Only if you want it to be, partypants," he said, giving a wink.

"Please go be horny somewhere else," she said, turning off the porch light. House said nothing more, and Cuddy entered the downstairs bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, doing everything in her power to subtly avoid looking at her reflection.

"Guest room is down the hall and to the right. You're lucky. If it was upstairs you'd be on the couch."

"You have a guest room? When's the last time it was used, 1982?"

Cuddy began taking her earrings out. "My mom used it a few months ago."

A silence fell upon the room; it wasn't an awkward silence, just a silence. House was still standing at the doorway, and Cuddy did her best to ignore it as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She figured he was just waiting to come in. She finished and turned the faucet off. She began walking out.

"Thank you," House suddenly murmured, making her stop next to him. The sincerity of his words had shocked her. They looked at each other; their eyes met in a deep gaze of attempted understanding.

"Don't mention it," Cuddy interrupted after a few long moments, and then broke the gaze, walking down the hallway until she heard the bathroom door close.

She stopped when she got to the guest room he would be staying in. She looked behind her; nobody was around. She walked into the room. It looked lonely and depressing, as if nobody had used it for years, even though she hadn't been lying, it was used just last month. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was broken, she needed to fix it, but it always escaped her mind. The dresser had a slight coat of dust on it, and she reached out and slid her hand along the surface.

She really was a lonely person.

She sighed; her chest rising with the heaviness of guilt, and then falling slowly. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. Slowly, with slight remorse, she reached down and fingered her stomach gently. It was flat and felt like an empty shell. Of course, it had always been flat, but now it felt especially so. She ran her hand slowly up the curves of her body; her hip bone poked out a bit more than she remembered. She stopped before she got to her ribs and pulled her hand away.

There was a small disturbance in the atmosphere in the room. Cuddy sensed it. With a startled gasp, she turned around- House had come up behind her and was now standing extremely close. So close, in fact, that she could feel his hot breath on the crook of her shoulder for one quick moment.

"Stop doing that to yourself," He said in a slow drawl.

"Doing what?" She replied quietly.

"Pretending like this isn't weird."

Cuddy looked up at him. The darkness of the room made the shadows rest on his bone structure in a dark and looming manner; but somehow, it was seductive.

"What?"

"Me. Being here. Why are you such a martyr?"

Cuddy swallowed. "Why are you such a messed up jackass?"

"You're messed up too."

They both fell silent. She was looking at him, he was looking at her. Slowly, House lowered his gaze. Cuddy wasn't sure, but it seemed as though he was studying her upper lip.

She couldn't explain what happened next, it just did. Instead of following her logic, she followed her intuition. She broke the ice and moved forward. She kissed him. It was a soft, gentle kiss. . . more for comfort than anything else. House was taken aback at first; Cuddy wasn't sure she was quite confident herself, either. But when she pulled away, they both stared. . . it was almost as if he was longing. . . as if he wanted more and was disgruntled by both the face that the kiss had occurred and that it had ended. Suddenly, House leaned forward and kissed her again- roughly. The bristles on his chin rubbed against Cuddy's cheek, but she ignored it.

House was kissing her full on- he didn't kiss just her top lip, or just her bottom lip. He kissed her lips, and it made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. In almost record time his tongue was begging entrance; Cuddy granted it immediately. Their tongues interlocked and they began exploring each other's mouth. He was almost exactly the way she remembered him from the last kiss they shared a year back; rough, yet somewhat restrained at the same time- letting her do most of the work. He tasted slightly of bourbon, but there was no trace of Vicodin this time. She moaned against his lips and he wrapped his arms around her back in response. They moved slowly backwards, but they didn't have to go far before Cuddy was rammed against the dresser. The top of it was pushed into the small of her back, and it hurt. She grimaced and buckled her hips toward House's thighs; he got the message and backed up. In fact, he did more than that. He brought his hands to the front of her black blouse and worked at the buttons as quickly as he could; Cuddy helped him, blind with lust. They removed the shirt and then let it fall to the floor. She was now dressed only in her black lacy bra and gray skirt; House, still fully clothed, was kissing her, letting his hands wander up and down her frame. He stopped, rested them on her side. He was tender when he felt how thin she was. Her ribs were more prominent than before and the way his fingertips felt, rested gently against them, almost made him question his motives. Was it him that was wearing her down? Of course her lost pregnancy probably had taken a toll on her body, but along with worrying about his feelings for her every step of the way. . . did he cause her to relent?

A gasp from the back of her throat caused him to move his hands. They slid up her back and rested against her shoulder blades. Simultaneously they moved toward the bed; House picked her up slightly and practically threw her down onto it. She laid against the bedpost; her legs folded up toward her chest. House removed his shirt before getting down on the bed himself. He rested his palms on the mattress and crawled above her, kissing her sloppily. She pushed her lips against his in an almost angry way, gasping and giving small little moans every once and a while. Her hand was grabbing onto his neck; pulling him toward her.

House's icy gaze moved down toward her legs when she kicked her shoes off. With a newfound adrenaline rush he backed up and experimentally slid his hands up her skirt, feeling every bit of thigh he could. Cuddy watched him with ease and then reached down to grab his hand- it was wandering closer and closer.

"Take it off," she hissed. "Stop teasing."

"A woman of action, are you?" House mused, almost grinning; he had remembered that about her. Within moments, Cuddy was in her panties. But she seemed to feel left out and instead of letting House remove her undergarments next, she moved forward and unbuttoned his pants, helping him out of them. It took a moment for House to get them off and it was not a graceful move- but he did. Once they were removed, Cuddy grabbed his neck and smashed her mouth against his lips once more, groaning, begging him to satisfy her in the only way she could. Her demeanor had taken a turn and she was getting extremely aggressive. At this point, neither of them were thinking about why they were doing any of this. They just were. House was questioning the hallucinatory factor of everything- but he remembered that he had not taken a Vicodin tablet for a year, and decided that even if this was a dream, he would enjoy every moment of it until he awoke. Cuddy, at this point, thought of nothing other than getting him inside of her. The thing about Cuddy and sex was that it was the only time she acted purely on instinct.

House's hands resumed their journey; they moved up and down her body, but it wasn't long before they stopped at her panties. He placed one hand on the inside of her thigh; the other he rested on the laces of the clothing. Before he continued, he stopped to look at her. His eyes may have been lustrous had it not been for the overpowering look of sadness within them. House was tired, worn down, and vulnerable. She gazed back down at him, her eyes blinking slowly with the anticipation of what she was feeling. . . and the understanding that she held for his grief. She was the same. House knew that, Cuddy knew that. That was, ultimately, the reason they were doing this. Deep down their hearts could bleed no more; they longed simply for understanding.

House was still waiting, seemingly, for her permission to advance. They were not as young as they used to be and it seemed as though this was the turning point from twenty years ago, the last time they had been in bed together. Along with age, they also had more maturity resting upon their shoulders. House was making sure they would have no regrets. Cuddy's eyes flashed; in that moment he knew she wanted him to continue.

Slowly, House peeled off her panties. She closed her eyes and laid back, waiting for him to make a comment- any sort of witty, sarcastic comment meant to lower her self esteem. It would be just like him. Instead, a soft noise came from the back of his throat. . . almost like a purr. She opened her eyes and instead of seeing him reach between her legs, saw him crawling atop the mattress; he was going to get back on top of her. He kissed her roughly as soon as she opened her eyes, however, forcing her to squeeze them shut once more.

She pushed his mouth away from her's after a second, looking at him with slight annoyance and full inquisitiveness.

"You have my underwear off and you're paying more attention to my face?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I was getting there," he answered in a husky tone; sure enough, when she looked, his boxers were lying on the bed next to them, his erection fully visible. Cuddy smirked lazily and lifted her neck to kiss him once more. He undid her bra strap and threw the last piece of clothing to the side.

"Couldn't wait to get those exposed, could you?" Cuddy hissed again, teasing even in the essence of this moment. "That why you saved them for last?"

"You need to shut up so I can do you properly," House growled, his hands moving behind her neck and down her back, gently tracing the outline of her spine. Despite everything, he couldn't help but notice again that Cuddy was thin. The fingers over her backbone served as not only an exploitative method but a way to get a good feel of this. Concealed by the shirts she wore; it gave her a more fragile, relenting look. A look she would have disapproved of. On the outside, fully clothed, she looked the same as she had always been- dominant, tough, bossy; only once everything was removed could House see she had had some struggles of her own. Cuddy, unaware of his present thoughts, shivered at his touch- he knew how to work his hands.

He lowered himself into her. He was surprisingly gentle and Cuddy could not help but wonder if he was being cautious. Once his member penetrated her, however, she lost the potential for this thought and felt instead as though she was about to lose control. He followed suit, it seemed, and things got rough fairly quickly. With a shaky sigh followed closely with a moan she clawed at his neck, wrapping her arms around it, and then moved them to his chest and let them stay there. They began moving together, finding their rhythm. It happened fairly quickly despite House's leg; this could only be attributed to the fact that both of them remembered little things about sleeping with the other. Cuddy was lost in a trance, halfway between erotic pleasure and total horror. But she would not give this up, no matter what. It felt too good, and House seemed to be enjoying himself as well, because although she kept her eyes closed for sex, she could hear small, occasional grunts that escaped the back of his throat.

Cuddy's thigh brushed against House's hip and she squeezed her muscles together, giving a disgruntled scream in the progress. "MmmMMHOOOUUSEE," she spat loudly to the ceiling. She threw her neck back once more to release a few whiny moans. She was approaching her climax. They were really being louder than she intended, but she couldn't help herself; it felt so damn good. House had her completely beneath him when they had started, laying down in the missionary position. . . but now they were riding up the bedpost- she was almost sitting, her legs spread so House had easy access.

"Makeeee meeeee," Cuddy commanded softly, her hair matted with sweat; a few strands sticking to her forehead. She was no longer speaking in complete sentences. She arched her body toward him once again and clenched as an orgasm rippled through her and she moaned his name through parted lips- keeping her eyes closed, her expression lost. House, being a man of less vocal expression during sex, clenched his teeth and gave a small noise instead as she tightened around him; he closed his eyes with her and did his best to stay in sync.

It was the highest she had been feeling since. . . well, as long as she could remember. And it was because of House. As every muscle in her body contracted and she panted with difficulty just to keep her breath, she forgot about everything. Rachel was asleep a few rooms down; she forgot about this. She had work early tomorrow; she forgot about that. But most importantly, she forgot that she would have to face the whole building and be his boss tomorrow for a brief moment. Instead, she moaned his name once again through clenched teeth, her shaky breath catching in her throat as he pulsated inside her.

Cuddy's orgasm finally declined and her breathing, still labored, became slightly more calm after a long minute. She opened her eyes and met the immediate icy stare above her; his eyes were intensely watching her, even though she had not been looking. Cuddy gave a tired smile and finally relaxed. They both began to subside and House slowly retreated from her. It had been quick sex and not the most experimental either of them had had, but it didn't matter. There was no explanation for this in the first place; it was to be expected that they should be unsure.

A quickie. A quickie for comfort. That was what had just occurred. . .

She moved away and laid down on her side, trying to catch her breath, her exposed chest heaving up and down. House did the same except he did not lay on his side; he was on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head. Cuddy, gripping a corner of the bed covers tightly with her fingers, felt like they should be talking, but she was much too tired now, and instead of asking him what the fuck they were doing, asked in a quiet tone if he could shut the door.